Tainted Hope
by EstelWolfe
Summary: Saruman has an alternate plan in case Helm's Deep holds. This is an AU that will branch off at Helm's Deep. This is my first attempt at a real fic based on Tolkien, constructive criticism is appreciated, but please be kind.
1. Chapter 1: No Chances

Disclaimer:  Trust me, I'm not intelligent enough to come up with more than a few phrases in my own language, let alone an entire language, and if Elvish isn't mine and the elves are the Firstborn of Iluvatar, it follows that . . . if I really have to say it I'll be depressed . . .

AN:  For those of you reading my 'Pirates' fic, I'm not abandoning it, I'm just seeing if this would actually form itself into a viable story, which I somehow doubt, but then again, my life at the moment doesn't leave me very much room for hope.  In my previous fic I realize that I misspelled Tolkien, which is highly embarrassing but not unexpected as I've never been good with 'ei' and 'ie', it was midnight when I started writing it, and my books were upstairs in my brother's room (I'm letting him read them) so I couldn't even use them for reference.  Yeah.  This would be a real fic if I decide to continue it, which is a big 'if' at the moment, and this would be AU, though it starts at Helm's Deep as it was in the book, as I haven't come up with a good before-the-WotR or after-the-WotR fic, though I'm working on it.  This will be better when I'm not writing it at midnight, and the next chapter might be interesting.  Also, the different levels of elves confuse me greatly, and I'm trying to make my way through 'Silmarillon', but I also have to read 'Anna Karenina', 'Genome', and 'A Pale Blue Dot' for school, so it's slow going.  If anyone could give me a simple synopsis that makes sense I'd be grateful.

**Tainted Hope**

**Part 1**

The orc stood before Saruman, alternating between cringing in fear and glowing with pride that he should be chosen, should be called before his lord and granted the special task.

"There is a Man who will be at Helm's Deep, a very special man, a Numenorean, and he will wield the Sword of Kings, though he is not the king . . .not yet, more than likely not ever.  You are to find this man, and you are to attack him."

The orc bared its teeth and hissed.  Manflesh was good; to be rewarded for taking manflesh was even better.  Saruman handed him a dagger, sheathed.

"You are to use this, and you are to stab him, anywhere you can, any way that you can.  There is only one rule—you may not kill him with this.  Is that understood?"

The orc stared at Saruman dumbly.  He was to attack the man, but not kill him?  How would that be helpful?

"I do not care if you understand why, do you understand what you are to do?"

The orc stepped back, fearful of it's master's wrath, nodding quickly and gibbering yes.

"Good.  You are dismissed.  Return to your unit."

The orc complied quickly, sparing only a last glance back at Saruman.  Saruman waited patiently until he was gone before turning to his goblin servant.

"Send for another one."

He would take no chances.  If the upstart heir of Isildur died in battle, then Gondor would fall quickly and simply.  If he did not, then Saruman was taking no chances.

He almost hoped the man would find a way to survive.  It would make things so very, very interesting . . .

                                    *                                   *                                   *

"_Elendil, Elendil!_"  Legolas watched in trepidation as the heir of Isildur leapt from their place of momentary rest and into the breach that had just been created by the wizardry of Saruman.  Even as the Numenorean rushed to aid in the closing as the breach, ladders rushed forward again, and the defenders were driven back further and further, some of the Rohirrim making a last effort to reach the caves, others rushing the stairs and the Hornburg.

The elf watched as Aragorn set himself as a guard, Anduril flaring in his hands, taking down any enemy that would dare to move too close, the retreating Riders poring past him and into the relative safety of the Hornburg.  Legolas wished to fight as well, to drive the orcs screaming back to Isengard, but he had only one arrow left, and only one purpose that he would use it for—to protect Isildur's heir.

Finally the stream of retreating warriors slowed to a trickle, until finally Aragorn faced only a sea of orcs.

"All who can have now got safe within, Aragorn!  Come back!"  The ranger spared a glance upward, nodded, swept the sword of kings around in an arc to drive back the orcs that had come too close, and turned to race up the stairs.  Even as he approached safety, his weariness betrayed him, and the Man stumbled and fell to one knee on the stairs.

The orcs screamed in a cacophony of blood-lust, rushing forward en masse.  The closest to the Ranger fell, an elven arrow through his throat, and Legolas cursed in elvish.  An archer, no matter how good, could not help without any arrows.  If only he had a quiver that would never run out of arrows . . .

A second orc was within range of Aragorn now.  The Numenorean turned, raising Anduril with weary arms to counter the blow, only to feel a flare of pain in his leg as a rumble sounded.  One orc met its fate on Anduril's hard steel as its companions were swept back down the stairwell, crushed and broken.

Aragorn ripped the small dagger from the back of his left leg and hurled in into the throat of another orc as he finished his retreat up the stairs.  He quickly found himself supported by elven hands.

"Aragorn!  Are you well?"

"As well as I can be.  Things go ill, my friend."  He swept his arm across his face, dispelling the sweat and hoping to dispel part of the weariness with it.  He was surprised to find that his leg didn't hurt very much at all.  In fact, he could walk comfortably without really limping.

The elf pulled back, apparently satisfied with the answer.  "Ill enough, but not yet hopeless, while we have you with us."  The elf spared a quick glance around.  "Where is Gimli?"

"I do not know.  I last saw him fighting the enemy no the ground behind the wall, but the enemy swept us apart."

"That is evil news."

"Don't worry.  He is stout and strong . . .and if he reaches the caves, he will far surpass your total."  The elf smiled slightly, though his eyes were still troubled.  "Come.  Let us see to our own defense."

Man and elf continued further into the Hornburg, intent on keeping the citadel intact despite the might of the invaders, and Aragorn gave no thought to the stab wound in his leg, an injury that was healing remarkably quickly even given his Numenorean blood.


	2. Chapter 2: Unwelcome

Disclaimer:  Most kings and princes wouldn't take very kindly to being thought of as property for ownership, so I keep my hands off the Numenorean and the elf . . .for the time being, at least . . .

AN1:  Languages are frightening.  I did my best at translating the Elvish, but yeah, I didn't understand most of the rules I read, so even this small bit probably has major issues and the longer one in the next chapter major ones, but I tried.  Elvish parts of conversations are translated at the bottom.

AN2:  Thanks for the kind reviews.  Sorry this is short, but it's all that I've got done that's in any shape or form suitable for posting.  I'm continuing as quickly as possible, but my muses have taken to doing the spastic jumps around the story that it did in AToM for those who read that.  They don't seem to understand that we have much to get through before we reach the Pelennor Fields, much to do before we march on Mordor, much to do before the end of the story, no matter how much I try to explain it.  Oh well.  I hope you all like the update.

**Tainted Hope**

**Part 2**

"Aragorn!"  Legolas sprinted lightly up the stairs, his elven feet making no sound, startling one of the Rohirrim who pointed up the stairs and to the left.  Legolas nodded a silent thanks before continuing on.

He found the Numenorean slumped against the wall, his chin resting on his chest with his arms crossed beneath, and his long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, effectively blocking half of the hallway.  Legolas smiled.  It certainly couldn't qualify as the most absurd position he had ever seen one of the Rangers in, but for Aragorn, it ranked up there.

The smile faded as he approached the Man, understanding the need to wake him and yet not relishing in the fact.  The last weeks, while difficult for all, had been even harder on Aragorn, finally forced to face the fact that he would either be king or die.  While the elf could sleep while riding or walking, the man could not, and even when the battle was finished and his weariness obvious he refused to take rest until he had seen to Gimli and some of the wounded Rohirrim.

Legolas knelt silently by his companion, studying him as he reached one hand towards the other man's shoulder.  He would be a great king of men . . .if only they could keep him alive long enough to claim the mantle.

"Lúmë lelya, Estel."  Legolas gently nudged the man's shoulder, leaping back in surprise when the Numenorean lunged at him, only his elven reflexes keeping him from finding himself in a stranglehold.

Aragorn stopped, stared at the elf, and then slumped back against the wall, running a hand through his dark hair.  "I am sorry, mellon nin.  Forgive me."

"No harm was done, Aragorn.  I am sorry if I startled you, but Gandalf has asked that we ride for Isengard as soon as possible."

"We should move quickly, then.  It is never wise to keep a wizard waiting longer than is absolutely necessary."  Aragorn climbed slowly to his feet, steadying himself against the wall.

"He would delay as long as possible if it were for your well being, Aragorn.  The hope of men resides in you.  Are you certain that you are well?"

The man smiled and placed one hand on the elf's shoulder as he walked by.  "I am well, Legolas.  In these dark times, it is really so strange that the dark should invade my dreams as well?"

"Mayhap not strange, but troubling it can still be called, especially when the one in question has at least a small portion of Sight gifted to him."

"I am well, Legolas.  Let us leave it at that."

The elf made no further mention of what had happened, but he watched the man carefully as Aragorn saddled his horse and swung himself skillfully into the saddle to follow Gandalf's lead.

The ranger, for his part, was aware of the elf's attention, and, once Gimli had taken his accustomed seat, of the dwarf's as well, but he strove to ignore it as best he could, recognizing that it sprang from friendship and a deep caring.  His own actions had disturbed him deeply, as well, and he truly did not know from what dark corner of his mind they had sprung.

He had not meant to sleep in the hall, but his weariness had finally become too great a burden.  He knew that he had dreamt while he slept, and that his actions had stemmed from the dream, but of what and why the memory of dreaming should send a chill through his soul he could not explain to himself, let alone his companions.

Aragorn watched with a strange mixture of awe and fear as the company approached the edge of the dark woods, Gandalf somehow parting a way through the dark and the gloom that had swallowed whole so large a portion of Isengard's might.

As the trees closed around them, Aragorn noticed that the scrutiny of his companions fade as Gimli and Legolas engaged in a debate as to which wonder was the most amazing, the woods of Fangorn or the caverns of Helm's Deep.  He listened with half his mind, the other half filled with the faintest of whispering and the deepest of dreads.

He could not hear the trees nearly as strongly or as clearly as the elf could, but he could still sense their living presence, the power and strength that they empowered, and some sixth sense at the back of his mind warned that they did not welcome him.

Aragorn turned his gaze to the very front of the small column of marchers, to where Gandalf and Theoden King were bent together in discussion.  If he and the wizard had been alone, perhaps he might have voiced his dread, but he would not speak of nameless, groundless fears in front of the king of Rohan.

The whispers rose higher in his mind, becoming entangled and twisted together, forming a net that settled with deliberate efficiency around his own thoughts, his fear brimming, moving closer and closer to panic with each indrawn breath.  He urged his horse closer to the center of the path, closing his eyes, hoping to appease the trees by showing that he meant to stay no longer than was necessary and to stray no closer than was needed.

"Aragorn?"  The ranger felt a hand fall on his shoulder and realized that he had ridden far closer to Legolas and Gimli than he had intended.  "What is wrong?"

"I do not like this place, Legolas."  The elf frowned at the man, who was pale and breathing heavily, his gray eyes downcast.

"Another who sees sense, master elf!"  Gimli laughed, the sound fading quickly as he, too, stared at the Numenorean.

"What is wrong, Aragorn?"

"I am not welcomed here, my friends.  I will be grateful when this journey is over."

Legolas turned his attention to the trees, struggling to grasp the meaning of their words, searching for whatever it was that was making the Numenorean nearly physically ill.

"Aragorn, I sense nothing here against you.  They fight the darkness, the Orcs, the killers and burners and usurpers of their land, but they bear no ill will towards men, and none know of what you are . . .Aragorn!"  Legolas used his knees to guide his horse against Aragorn's, grabbing the man as he swayed alarmingly, his eyes rolling back into his head and his lips moving slightly.

Whatever the man was saying was lost in a dark stirring in the woods about them, and the Rohirrim quickly surrounded their lord, their horses nearly rearing in fright as the sound of wood groaning under strain rose in a symphony of power to fill the woods.

Before any further actions could be performed Gandalf stepped forward, his staff glowing.  The ranger tensed against his side and Legolas glanced down, stopping and staring in bewilderment.  The man's face was frozen into a mask of disgust and disbelief as he watched Gandalf, his eyes, usually a light gray, seeming at that moment to be pure black and bottomless.

An explosion of light enveloped the company, and when it had faded Legolas again looked at the man, only to find a shaky, gray-eyed ranger gently releasing himself from the elf's hands.

"I told you I was not welcome here, my friends."  The ranger urged his horse ahead, and both Legolas and Gimli watched him, troubled by what had happened.  The elf decided to consult the wizard as soon as was possible.

It was true that the huorns did not welcome something, but what that something was, Legolas feared to know.

**End Notes:**

Lúmë lelya, Estel.—Time to leave, Estel.

Mellon nin—My friend


End file.
